Drowning
by Darkstar7
Summary: Pre-RENT fic. Mark's drowning in Roger's music, and Roger's drowning in his pain. Will they find each other, or destroy each other? (My pathetic attempt at a summery ^_^)
1. Default Chapter

Notes: ok, people, this is my first RENT fic. To be honest, I've never actually seen RENT, but I DO have the soundtrack! So please forgive me if I did anything wrong. This is slash, like always. Mark's POV. Tell me, should I even bother to continue this? I think it works well as a one-shot, but I might add chapters, if you people want me to. Ok, on with the fic!

Roger is playing again.

I had been out taking a walk before dark. The twilight streets of New York City have a certain beauty, the shadows of the buildings draping the frantic city in a soft darkness. I don't like the nightlife, all neon signs and flashing lights. And the daytime can be just as bad, with the burning sun baking the life out of the trees in Central Park. Dusk is when I walk the streets, when all is quiet and peaceful and painless.

I had come home when the night started to draw to near, the moon become too apparent behind the haze of fog. I entered our building, and was walking down the hallway to my door when I heard it. The cutting sounds of Roger playing the guitar drifted through the walls. I hadn't heard him play since April died, two months ago. I stopped outside our door, savoring the sound.

I love to hear Roger on the guitar. He doesn't simply play the music. He rips into it. He tears the notes out one by one and leaves them hanging in the air, as if they were some other shimmering element. He lives the music, letting it roll through him and into the world.

The notes rose out of the guitar with such clarity and sadness that they seemed to cleave through the light and sky, as if they would climb to the very heavens. The sound of it, the long pure notes and full-throated chords, seemed to throb with a translucent light.

Yet, as the melody deepened, it became darker, the very essence of despair. The endless, liquid notes cried out in anguish, and the chilling harmonies tore out of the guitar with such force it seemed the instrument would break under the pressure. The music seemed to go beyond Roger, as if her were merely a vessel for the terrifying and impossible beauty of the music.

The song grew richer and darker, and it became more than despair. It throbbed and pulsed till my heart seemed to beat in time with each exquisitely painful note. The music rang with the sorrow, the vast loneliness of unending grief. It was building, building up towards the soul- shattering climax.

And I knew, in that very instant, the song was telling of everything that happened to Roger. It was the darknessexploded, the darkness liquid and molten. It was beautiful like the shimmer of coals; just enough light to show how much darkness there really was. I could feel the music surrounding me, drowning me with its wild, untamed emotion—chaos and anguish and savage beauty all blending into one.

The music spired into an impossibly high finish, flying to the stars. I could hear the song speaking through Roger, asking the ancient and painful question.

Why?

Why did April kill herself? Why didn't we guess what she was going to do? Why didn't our love last? Why didn't she try to live?

Why was there no happy ending?

All these questions were interwoven with his music, telling me without words how much April's suicide had wounded him, how alone he felt in the world right now. Roger had cared her with all his being, his soul. And she had deserted him.

Roger played the last note, the final tear in his mourning of April. The sound hung in the still air, glimmering with sorrow and the unnamable emotion. I knew what he was saying through his music, what he was trying to tell her even after she was gone forever.

He still loved her.

He loved her as much as he ever had. She was his whole world, the only one he could bring himself to care about. Roger was walking a thin line between living and giving up. April was pulling Roger toward the eternal embrace, taking him away this world. And he would do it, he loved her so. She had been his reason to go on.

Even in death she was his life.

He would leave this place, this apartment, this earth. He would leave me for her, his beautiful April, the springtime of his life. How could I ever compare with her, she who light up the dark corners of his soul with pure and blinding light. I was merely his friend, a quiet person in the background. No more than that.

God, it tore at my heart.

I wanted to be more to him, I wanted him to love me. I wanted him to hold me like there was no one else in the world. I wanted to run my hands through his blonde hair, to stare into his eyes forever and ever. I wanted him to be to me what April was to him. My love, my life, my reason for living.

My soulmate.

I know it's hopeless. He still loves her, still cares about her more than life itself. She is locked in a glass box in his heart, untarnished by the shadow of death. And I will always be his best friend, the second best thing. Never the first. I haven't been the first in my whole life.

The silence reigns. I wait for a few minutes, trying to control myself before I go in. With a start I realize I'm crying. Tears for the love I will never have. Roger cries for April, and I cry for Roger.

Will anyone ever cry for me?


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Ah, this turned into a long chapter (for me, anyway)! I wasn't even going to continue this, but I thought it might be nice to get Roger's POV. I have a question for all you people who have actually seen RENT. Is Collins living with them at roughly this time? I'm not exactly sure. PLEASE tell me if you know! Ok, on with the fic!

I am lost in the music. The notes swirl around me, a dark whirlpool of grief and despair. All my pain, all the anguish I felt over April, is spiraling down into the music, a song of tears for my lost love. The music gushes out of the guitar, flooding the room with pure emotion. The chords fill the small apartment, drenching the walls with their hopelessness and sorrow.

I play harder, louder, fiercer. My fingers tear into the guitar, ripping the emotion out of my soul. I know the only way I can survive April's death is to be cold, cold like frozen steel. My heart must be shrouded in ice and frost. I am playing to cleanse myself of this pain, of this humiliating love I feel for her. I play to rid myself of all feelings, to kill them now before they can hurt me. I play to destroy all despair and grief and misery.

And love. Especially love.

Love betrayed me. It ripped my heart out and left me bleeding and helpless. It promised me the world and then left before I knew what I had. Love disappeared in a cloud of smoke and left me stranded and alone.

So terribly alone.

Still, I played on. The melody was weaving into a shimmering tapestry of sadness and loss, beautiful in its darkness. I was falling into the all–consumng music, fading away until I was no longer the creator but the instrument. It was as if I was being acted upon by an outside force, as if someone was playing the music through me.

Time lost all meaning. The only thing I cared about was the melody, the song. I never saw April's broken body huddled on the bathroom floor, drowning in a river of blood. I never saw her delicate wrists slashed to the bone, never saw her beautiful face pale and lifeless. I never saw her being lowered into the ground in a cheap coffin, her grave marked only by a simple stone. None of that had happened, none of it was real. The only thing that mattered was Here and Now and Forever.

The music rose higher and higher, piercing the air with sharp and glittering notes. The emotions were leaving me, flying away into the stars. The sorrow and anguish were pouring out of the wound in my soul, deserting me in favor of blessed numbness. I was succeeding; the pain and love were in the sky now. I would no longer hurt, no longer cry.

No longer feel.

I played the final note, the last drop of love left in my soul. The silence, shimmering and beautiful, wraps me in numbing comfort. The pain, the torture that had been my shadow for months is gone. I can breathe without inhaling poison, walk without sinking into quicksand. Now, at last, I am free. Free of my darling, my life. My April.

I sit with head bowed, savoring the quiet. I don't know how long I sat there. Seconds, hours, what does it matter? But suddenly I heard a sound–the door creaking open. I looked up. Mark was home. He walked in quietly, his light footsteps echoing in the bare apartment. He didn't say anything, just gave me a soft smile.

He reminds me of her.

Oh God, what was I thinking? How could I delude myself into believing that I was free, that I was beyond pain? How could I ever hope to give up loving April when he was here? Him, a living breathing reminder of my lost love. He was the sum of what attracted me to her, everything I missed after she died. Her caring, her love of life. Mark has her pale skin, her beautiful, almost elvish face. They both have that certain way they walk, with unconscious grace. He is the true artist, the essence of creative passion.

"Roger?"

How does he do that? How can he make one word say so much? How does he shade his voice with so many overtones–worry and concern blended with caring and warmth. And a slight tint of fear. Not fear for himself, but fear for me.

"Roger?"

A little more intense, a little louder now. The worry is stronger. So is the fear. He's afraid that I'll follow April down the dark road to suicide. The thought had occurred to me before, right after she died. It seemed like the only way out was to die, that there was no purpose. I felt that now that April was gone, death would be my lover. But then I had a feeling, a premonition that underneath the velvet blackness there was something horrible, so horrible it didn't have a name. Something would grab me with razor sharp claws and pull me into a world where all that existed was blood and tears and pain. I'm afraid, so terrible afraid. Oh God, I'm slipping, I'm falling into that that cold, cold darkness. I'm afraid that once I fall, I'll never get out again. I can't breathe. I can't breathe! Oh God, help me! Somebody help me!

"Roger!!"

Two burning irons on my shoulders, searing me with their heat and bringing me back. I look up into Mark's scared face, his blond hair flying everywhere. His hands are on my shoulders, radiating heat. I realize that I'm shivering, shivering so hard I can barely speak.

"I–I–"

"My God Roger, you're like ice!"

He quickly snagged a threadbare blanket from the table and wrapped it around me, but it did no good. The tremors wouldn't stop. Finally, he simply wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me with warmth. At first, I struggled. This was too much, I couldn't take it. I'd finally made myself believe that I didn't care anymore, and here he was holding me, giving me his heat and his love.

"Roger, I'm just trying to get you warm," he said soothingly, rubbing his hands in circles on my back.

The ice was calling to me, beckoning me. It wasn't asking, wasn't hurting. But it was empty, so horribly empty. And Mark was calling me, too. In his own, quiet way he was seducing me back to the land of the living.

I surrendered. I wrapped my arms around him and held him, stealing his warmth and his heat. Make me warm, Mark. Surround me with your essence and your emotion. Be my light, be my life. Be my love.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: sorry this chapter took so long in getting uploaded! I've been having issues with my english teacher and two thousand word essays ::glares at said english teacher:: aaaaanyway, here it is, the third chapter. The real third chapter. I had some difficulty uploading last time and uploaded ch. 2 twice. Ok, enjoy the fic!

Roger was the first thing I saw when I walked in. He was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, holding his head in his hands. He looked up when I walked in, but didn't acknowledge me. I forced a smile, willing his silence not to hurt. There was a time when we could talk about anything, be completely open with each other. Now I feel as if I'm living with a stranger. 

I glanced at him when I walked by, and was shocked at what I saw. He looked terrible. His face was deathly pale, and his hair was damp with sweat. I could see him shaking slightly, as if he was terrified of something. I didn't know for sure, but I guessed his fingers must be blistered from his brutal attack on the guitar. And his eyes–oh god, a thousand words couldn't describe them. Something deeper than pain, deeper than grief was staring back at me, trapped in his gaze. If eyes really are the windows to the soul, then Roger was facing the beginning of the end. 

In that moment, I wished with all my heart for April. I knew Roger was slipping, welcoming the dark lover with open arms. If she could save him, pull him back from that cold embrace, than I would do anything to get her back. For though Roger needs April, I desperately need him. I need him more than anything. 

I walked into the kitchen, trying to get away from him. I grabbed a glass cup and poured myself some tap water. I sipped slowly at my drink. The cold, metallic liquid helped steady my nerves, helped keep me from throwing myself into mire of depression. I stared at the blank wall, willing my mind to wander. For a little while, at least, I could numb the sorrow. I could give myself some relief by not thinking, not feeling. A small corner of my mind knew this wasn't going to help, only make it worse, but my pain drowned that voice out.

I must have been standing there for at least thirty minutes. I snapped out of it when I put my glass to me lips to find I had drank all the water. My legs were cramping from standing in one position too long. I stretched and put my glass in the sink. Moonlight was coming through a window, lining the kitchen with silver. It shone on the glass, making the simple cup look like priceless crystal. A fake, I thought, just like me.

I walked back into the living room. Roger was still sitting there, exactly as I had left him. He wasn't just sitting in the same chair, he hadn't moved at all. His hair was still hanging in exactly the same way, his fingers still touching the same part of his face. Feeling slightly alarmed, I began to walk toward him.

"Roger?"

No response.

I began to walk faster, my fear growing with every step.

"Roger?"

Still nothing. I ran the rest of the way there, my footsteps echoing in the empty apartment. I kneeled down in front of him and yelled his name, hoping, praying for a response. Silence. I put my hands on his shoulders, intending to shake him awake.

Cold.

He was freezing, as cold as an ice sculpture. He couldn't talk, he was shivering so hard. What had he done to himself? I was so worried I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind.

"My God, Roger, you're like ice!"

I grabbed a blanket from the table and wrapped it around his shaking shoulders. I knew right from the start it wasn't working. The blanket was too thin, and Roger was so very cold. I desperation, I did the only thing I could.

I held him.

I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight, making false promises to myself that I'd never let him go. I held him like he was all that mattered, like he was the last person on earth. In a way, I suppose, he was. 

He struggled at first, rejecting me. He didn't want me, didn't need me. He had the ghost of his lost love, something I could never win against. But still I held him. Maybe he didn't need me, but I wasn't going to give up on him without a fight. 

"Roger, I'm just trying to get you warm," I said softly. Liar, liar.

When he heard that, he calmed down. He didn't know the guilty pleasure I was taking from this. He didn't know that I held him, not as a friend, but as a lover. He simply surrendered to the embrace, trusting me to keep him safe and warm. But then, Roger did something I never thought, never _dreamed_ he would do.

He wrapped his arms around me.

I nearly died right then. It was everything I'd ever wanted, ever longed for. It was my fantasy, the thing that kept me going when all else failed. Nowit was happening, it was real. I closed me eyes, drowning in bliss. I never wanted this to end. I wanted to keep this moment forever, locked in my heart. I knew, deep inside of myself, that this was what I'd been living for. This embrace was everything life had to offer me.

Roger had stopped shivering. He was getting warmer, his cold skin was thawing. I expected him to pull away at any moment, to untangle himself and walk away without a word. I know him too well. Perhaps if I didn't, I could delude myself into thinking that we'd be closer after this, that we would be more than strangers. Sometimes I hate being so perceptive. It leaves no room for dreaming. 

"Mark?"

I heard him speak. His voice was soft and tremulous, a tone I hadn't heard him use in a long, long time. At first I was so surprised that I didn't answer. This was not what I expected at all.

"What is it, Roger," I asked quietly, pulling apart from him so I could look into his face.

"Kiss me."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Well, it took me about a year, but I finally got the damn thing finished. I'm madly in love with all the wonderful reviewers, and I promise I'll check out all of your stuff as soon as I get the chance (yes, even the lovely A-Chan. You'll get what's coming to you, sweetheart…::evil grin::) Peace, love, and chocolate chip cookies to all!!!

"Kiss me."

'What are you doing?' part of my mind screamed. 'He'll hate you for this, he'll never look you in the eye again! You'll ruin everything you've ever had with him! The midnight card games, the long talks about nothing, you'll lost it all!' Yet the deeper, most secret part of my heart, yearned to be held, to be loved.

I didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't thinking or rationalizing my behavior. I was just feeling, just trying to make the pain go away. I was hurting, hurting so badly I thought I might bleed myself to death. Mark could heal me, I know he could. he could wrap me in his arms and soothe away the ache. He could whisper meaningless words of caring and warmth, and I might let myself believe him.

Mark pulled away from me, confusion and disbelief etched on his face.

"W-what?"

Now's my chance. I can bluff my way out of this, can back away from my best friend. Now's my chance to turn around and walk away from Mark. Mark, the last piece of April I have.

Now's my chance.

I stepped forward and enfolded him in my arms.

"Kiss me, Mark."

I felt him tense up. He backed up again, slowly.

"Roger...I...we-why?" he stuttered, not sure what he was asking.

"Please, Mark. I need you right now," I said quietly. "Just hold me. Hold me and kiss me and love me. Oh god Mark, please love me."

I reached out my hand, risking everything in one moment. This was it, my last hope. Mark was my lifeline, my savior. He held my life in his hands, held my heart in his choice. He could pull me back into the light, could comfort me on cold nights with the gentle pressure of his hand. Or he could turn me away. He could refuse and leave me broken on the floor, could walk out of my life and let me die of a shattered soul.

I held my breath and waited.

Mark walked toward me slowly. He reached up and touched my face with feather-light fingers. He traced my cheekbones down to my chin, as if he were a blind man. I closed my eyes, hardly daring to breathe.

When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.

"Oh Roger. I've missed you so much."

He cupped my face and drew it down to his own. His lips brushed against mine in a chaste kiss, innocent and sweet. I touched his face gently, and my fingers came away wet.

He was crying.

I drew back to look at him. Slow tears trickled down his face, the tears of love and life and pain. He cried when his heart was dying, and when he was healing mine. And I loved him all the more for it.

He was beautiful. Slender fingers still rested on my face, hands shaking from emotion. His thin body was mere inches from my own, radiating heat. He stared at me with eyes huge from a delicate mixture of love and fear, eyes that seemed scared and tender and hopeful all at once.

I reached out to hold him again, needing his body against mine. It felt so right, so achingly perfect. I wanted to stay like this for eternity, resting in the arms of my beloved. It was as close to heaven as I wanted to get before I die.

I kissed him on his forehead, then again on the nose. I kissed his cheeks and the corners of his eyes, finally moving down to capture his lips with my own. I ran my tounge over his lips, coaxing his mouth open. He resisted at first, alarmed at the new turn in which things were going. But only for a moment. He held my face firmly in front of him, one hand reaching around to hold the back of my head. I let my hands drift to his waist, pressing him against the wall. I ground my hips into his, enjoying his strangled moan. I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, hands made clumsy with passion. Finally, I managed to get them undone.

I kissed my way down his neck, leaving a trail of bite marks. I smiled, and took one dark pink nipple in my mouth. Mark arched his back with a gasp, squirming with pleasure. I liked having this effect on him, on being able to make him feel good. It was the same with April. I'd always known what she liked to feel, how she liked to be touched. 

It was almost like being with her again. The same smell, the same taste. It was all coming back to me; making love at midnight, with stars shining down through the windows. In a way, it made it worse. I missed her so much, missed the way she used to tease me and play with me. When I trailed my fingers down Mark's ribcage, it was like touching her again. When I kissed the hollow of Mark's throat, it wasn't him I tasted, but her. Oh April. Please don't stop. Don't ever stop.

Suddenly, Mark pulled away from me.

"What did you say?" he asked quietly, a strange emotion on his face.

I was confused. "Say? I didn't say anything, baby. What's wrong?"

He shook his head, as if he didn't want to believe it. "No, you said something. You said her name. April."

I felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. Had I really said that? No, I couldn't possibly be that stupid. I would never do that, would never hurt Mark like that. Would I?

"Mark, I didn't-"

Slap.

Mark had hit me with all the force he could muster, slapping me across the face. He stood facing me, furious. His cheeks were still flushed from passion, his shirt still undone. His eyes were flashing with hurt and anger, his hands balled into fists at his side. When he spoke, it was deathly quiet.

"How could you?"

I wanted to close my eyes, wanted to look away. I didn't want to see how badly I'd wounded him. I wanted to run away and hide. After all, that's what I did, wasn't it? When things get tough, the tough get going, right?

"Mark, I-"

"Don't" he said, halting me. "Don't speak, don't fill my head with your pretty lies. It was her all along, wasn't it? You never wanted me, never meant what you said. You just got horny and thought I was an easy lay, is that it?"

"No! No, it wasn't like that at all, I just-I just needed someone..."

"You needed someone? You fucking needed someone?! Is that all you have to say?" Mark shouted, hot tears spilling down his face. "Tell me Roger, did you ever think about how I'd feel? Did it even occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I might not want to be your fuck-toy?! Or did you even stop to think about me at all? Did you ever, in your whole life, think about anyone but yourself?!"

The last accusation echoed through the house. I hung my head, unable to answer. It was true, I knew it. I hadn't thought about how I might be hurting him. But he so looked like April. If I couldn't have her, then couldn't I at least have him?

Mark wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and straightened. The anger was gone from him, replaced with a sadness and weariness that should have never marked a face so young.

"I'm leaving now," he said softly. "I won't live a lie, and I won't be a replacement, not for April or anybody else. I loved you, Roger. For a very long time. Good-bye."

Then, he slowly walked out the door. 

Footsteps, fading away into darkness.

Then silence.

Then nothing.


End file.
